Status: Unconfirmed
by icecreamlova
Summary: DeiYou. An hour after turned himself into a bomb, Deidara wakes up with a pounding headache as if he, well, exploded. Meanwhile, you fall out of the sky... with NO shinobi skills. Gasp! AU as of the Deidara's confirmed death. NOT an interactive story.
1. Chapter 1

"Status: Unconfirmed"

By _icecreamlova_

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- - - - -

1. Prologue

- - - - -

It's Friday afternoon, school has just finished for this semester, and outside, rain has started pouring in impenetrable sheets, looking like glass if you view it from a distance.

You sigh as you gaze through your window, the white paint cracked, the glass looking dirty and smudged compared to the pure rain. It just isn't fair! Normally, you would phone your best friend and arrange to 'go to the library' (really a codename for going-to-the-library-then-sneaking-off-to-a-café) but she's on a trip to who-knows-where. OK, so as her best friend you know very well that she's meeting her family in Serbia for the two-week break from school, not to mention her boyfriend who you think looks younger than her, even if he's really three years older.

Absentmindedly, you pick up the phone on your bedside table and stare at the neatly-lined buttons on it. Who else apart from your best friend will keep you company? Your other school friends either, a) are busy, b) don't know where you live, or c) just don't give a damn about your dilemma because you tugged her cheeks or squeezed her half-to-death too many times.

You put the phone down, recognising defeat even in your rather happy, hyper mode after a few bottles too many of V. You sigh. It _just isn't fair!_ The day should be beautiful, in celebration that you've finally escaped your maniacal monster of a social studies teacher with the shiny head, but instead it is raining, and you have zero chance to going outside and enjoying the sunshine.

Nothing else to do, you wander idly around the room until your eyes fall onto the computer you share with your father. Luckily, unlike your unfortunate, computer-obsessed friend with whom you share information about your favourite anime and books, you have broadband, and when you use it your father won't yell at you for blocking the phone-lines with dial-up, as long as you don't stay on for too much time.

Happy at your unfortunate friend's expense, you switch on the computer, enter your username and password (your mother is incredibly nosy) and begin surfing the net. There's no-one on so you switch into busy and check your favourite fanfiction website.

It's when you click on the part labelled 'Naruto fanfiction' that it happens--a tugging feeling at your eyes and your navel, warmth spreading out in exquisite spirals of heat.

You've heard and read about this, of course--being sucked into a different world. You've just never experienced it before. And now it's your turn!

You will, in the future, look back on the fact that you did not run out of the room screaming your brunette head off as one of your flaws. You will be extremely disgusted that you were stupid enough to be excited to be going into a world where people are tools without emotion, facing death every day.

But for now you rejoice at the new experience, as the tugging intensifies until it aches, and fireworks explode in coloured blazes behind your eyes…

Your nosy mother will pop in later to check on your progress of homework, and she will be puzzled that the room is empty of human life.

- - - - -

The sky is grey and cloudy, the air dusty in the resounding explosion from his last bomb . . . he feels terrible, as if someone has sewed together all four of his mouths to stop him screaming as they insert one of his own, custom-made bombs--from his days as a terrorist bomber--into a cavity cut open at his side . . .

Uh. Dirty, annoying thoughts. This is why Deidara likes bombs: all you see is the after-effects, and you do not have to watch warm blood slowly draining out, an empty husk of a person staring out with empty eyes, spattered red. At least, in his bombs, the dust coats his eyes enough that he must close them every few seconds, and it blocks out the images of his victims. He feels queasy, and the parts of his stomach still free of heavy clay squirm at the thought. Mai . . . he thinks of the blood on her body when he discovered her, and he suddenly finds himself on the way to throwing up.

But the feeling is not bad, even if it is not entirely welcome. He should feel nothing--by all rights, after self-destructing to kill that brat Sasuke, he should be dead. His queasiness proves he is not dead, even though he has little left to live for. Mai, his parents, they are all dead. Why is it he, who in his grief killed thousands, is the only one still alive?

Stomach no longer wishes to be component of body.

Deidara sighs, and with what energy he can still muster up, moves his head slightly, looking up and about. There is no one near him, and even Tobi has disappeared. So with his last dregs if power, Deidara sits up and manages to drag himself half-way across the ring of his destruction, unmindful that his Akatsuki ring has somehow disappeared, unmindful that his body--which he carefully does not look at--must be a mess, unmindful even that his palms have a very curious tingling. All that he cares about is getting shelter, perhaps even getting rest.

"I really _do_ wonder where Tobi went, though," Deidara mutters out loud, wincing when he realises he is exhibiting signs of madness, talking to one of his other mouths. With a burst of energy, at the thought of squeezing Tobi until he pops for leaving him like this, he stands up, and limps out. It takes what seems like _hours_ before trees appear in his vision, covered in soot from the destruction who-knows-how-long ago, but really, from the position of the sun it is really only a few seconds.

As Deidara leans back against the trunk of an oak, his clothing darkening rapidly from ash, his mind turns unwillingly to his past. His parents . . . Mai . . . And that _stupid_ brat Sasuke.

He's so bent in the past that he almost misses what happens next--almost, but he still notices it, as one does not become his level of ninja without acquiring caution and super-sensitive senses.

Deidara stares as a human-looking blur with hair the colour of the oak he is leaning back on falls out of the sky.

- - - - -

To be continued . . .

- - - - -

**A/N: I'm SORRY my other fics haven't been updated in a while. Please be patient. I wanted to get this one up because it's for a friend.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Status: Unconfirmed"

By icecreamlova

- - - - -

- - - - -

2

- - - - -

The human-shaped blur is really falling. It's not one of those falls which someone sustains when (stupidly) leaping off a tall bough without looking at the proximity from the ground. It's a true _fall_, as if someone has spun the person upside-down, attached one of his own custom-made bombs to her—she's close enough that Deidara can tell it is a she—and then let it blow.

For a moment, just a moment, Deidara frowns mournfully at his palm, really looking at it for the first time. After that explosion . . . well, he does not wish to go into details, as the sight of pouring blood makes him feel uncomfortable.

Then he goes to investigate the crash.

- - - - -

While Deidara is trying to stand on his own two feet again, you are off in your own little world. Planet Ryukan is a lovely place a few million light years away from here. Even so, due to the surprisingly powerful . . . erm, _power_ of thought and boundless imagination, you are back on this strange, foreign world by the time the blonde Akatsuki member reaches you.

When he does, you employ your eyes, and realise this man's surprised.

And then you realise, when a passing breeze picks out his fair hair to reveal one of his 'eyes', exactly who he is. The mouths on his hands, even though his Akatsuki ring, the Seiryuu, is missing; the strange eye; the hair; the stature.

"Oh. My. God." You breathe, even though you don't really want to sound like one of those preppy bitches (which you hate) on teenage chick-flicks (which you hate even more—blondes aren't dumb, and not all preppies are bitches!). Slowly, despite the burning pain in your knees and elbows, you pick yourself up and—collapse onto your knees again. You just don't have enough energy to rise. Despite that, you still have enough energy to cry out, "Will you marry me?"

The blonde's only organic eye widens again in shock, which changes quickly to a smirk, before his expression moves from that to annoyance. "What the hell, un? You don't know who I am, and I don't appreciate being mistaken for someone else. Un."

You wonder why he's making those strange noises before remembering that, in the English version, the translators changed 'un' to 'yeah'. Which sounds strange, and you decide you like this one better. There is a rumbling feeling inside you, somewhere along the lines of 'OMG-OMG-OMG-Deidara is ALIVE!!!', battling with 'so what the hell am I?'. Somehow, you manage to push down the conflicting emotions to scrutinise him.

He notices you watching him immediately, and shakes his head. "I don't have time for this." He mutters, turning away.

Oh no. He's going. You know, immediately, that you cannot allow this. So, rather foolishly—hey, you've never said you weren't thick-headed sometimes—you play your semi-trump card: knowledge. "Why isn't Tobi with you? Aren't partners supposed to stick together?"

The way Deidara turns around, slowly, hauntingly, is almost comical, but you immediately wish you had not said that. If he comes to the wrong conclusions, that you are a highly informed spy, or perhaps one of Uchiha Sasuke's lackeys, he's going to take revenge, even if he doesn't look well-rested at the moment; and even if, after a who-knows-how-many-thousands/millions miles fall from the sky, you aren't dead, and few people can survive that.

"How?" he asks in a strained voice. He does not elaborate, but you don't need him to.

You look away. What can you say? You can be a little dense sometimes, but at the same time your mind, still in the flourish of teenage, fifteen-year-old madness, that 'I'm practically indestructible' forethought, knows that revealing the truth will snowball from small to colossal consequences. Beginning with Deidara. "We-ell . . ."

You're thinking hard for a plausible solution, one where he won't kill you once the words come out, but Deidara isn't having it.

He studies you as intensely as you did him a few moments ago. "Don't bother." He tells you flatly. "You're probably not a spy because all _competent_ spies have cover stories"—you flinch; so _that's_ how Rosa managed to find out what you had been doing that day, because you're not a competent spy—"and you're not an assassin since you would have taken advantage of my circumstances. But all the same, I'm going to have to take care of you for knowing even that much."

Deidara tells you all of this in a strange, uninterested monotone, which do not match the thoughtful gleam in his eyes, just a tad too calculating. Is he lying? You know that ninja lie all the time, and that someone like Deidara, a killer, a bomber, would think nothing of it. For the first time, you question the cleverness of taming Deidara.

"Name?" He finally orders, breaking out of that strangled tone that he usually employs with Tobi (before, of course, snapping and trying to strangle the young Akatsuki member) and managing to pull out a more serious, threatening aura.

With that in mind, and the fact you don't want to lie too much, being essentially an honest person, you say quickly, "Ryukan."

Again, that strange, thoughtful look in his eyes is dragged out again unwittingly as he cocks his head. "A strange name."

"I'm very strange."

"With bad memory." He refers to what he earlier assumed to be a mistake. "Unless . . ."

You still have some sense of self-preservation, knowing that saying the wrong words will get you killed immediately. "Unless what?" You ask, glad that you did not call out his name when proposing a marriage. "And don't insult me!"

By the slight smirk playing around his mouth, you know you have not fooled him, but for now he drops it, deciding—correctly—that you're not going to be a threat to him. Not immediately. You know as well as he does that, should you try to run, he could slit your throat easily.

Despite your crush/obsession, your stomach churns. He could kill you . . .

"Stand up." He commands.

You try. You really do. But just like before, your knees fold out from underneath you, and you collapse onto the earth, dust spraying over the few remaining clean parts of your garments and dirtying them too. You _just don't have the energy_ it takes to get up—and seriously, you think, who can blame you after you've crossed time and space, into something which shouldn't even exist?

Deidara looks annoyed again. "Are you really unable," he begins, "or are you pretending? If you know as much as you appear to, I do not take liars well."

"You are one." You return with a sarcastic smirk, momentarily forgetting that fear. Your heart almost skips a beat when you realise what you've just said, but rather than taking offence, Deidara only nods and smirks in return.

This time, you know better than to rise without support. You claw at the earthen walls of your wide crater, and when you manage to drag yourself up, with effort, you are surprised to see that he is frowning.

Then he sighs, and leans down, and he pulls you out without any effort. You feel ashamed; you seem so weak.

- - - - -

In the end, Deidara ends up forming some strange, clay creature you do not really wish to learn about, and both he and you sit there—you behind him, leaning back to try and recover, not quite daring to hold onto his waist for support—while it takes you to whichever destination is in mind. You do not ask exactly how Deidara, in the shape he is in, still manages to pull off this type of ability. You're hardly injured yourself—and why exactly is that?

Some time later, you notice that the ash on the ground has lessoned, and the dirt is slowly forming into sand. You're entering a desert. At first this alarms you, but it is taken off your mind when another thought manages to barge into your mind.

"You saved my life!" You cannot help but say it out loud.

Deidara glances back, impatient. At this point, when a breeze whips up his hair, throwing sand into both your faces—your hair is actually rather short, slashed off at about your chin—you notice the way he's created. It's like he's in harmony with the sand, blending in with the lonely sand and sky.

You point back at the place from where you've come, obscured by several gently rising dunes, swelling to hide the arc of the sun. Shadows are long, rippling the sand. "That fall," you tell him earnestly, "if it had been ordinary sand . . ."

Now your host is weary. "I know." He said with true tiredness in his voice, and you finally realise, a) he's incredible at hiding his exhaustion and b) you _really_ hate Uchiha Sasuke for doing this to him. "The ash covered your fall. But even so, it's surprisingly that you managed to survive. That's why I'm taking you to see the leader."

When the words sink in, you sit bolt up, wincing at the glare of bright sunlight flooding into your eyes. "The WHAT? Wait, don't answer that—the guy with the really spiky-"—belatedly, you realise you're supposed to be subtle—"um . . . _strong powers_, the leader of the Akatsuki?"

Deidara shrugs. "I'm not even going to ask."

—_what you were going to say in the first place rather than __**strong powers**_, he doesn't say, you realise. He, unlike you, has experience in secrecy.

Today, though, after the long fight Deidara appears more tired than usual. At the point you judge to be half-way across the desert, there comes a shout, and the air ripples in what is more than waves of heat. You realise . . .

"Suna shinobi!" You hiss.

Obviously, a much more skilled and powerful and experienced shinobi than the ones who attacked you, Deidara has already seen them, and he's guided his clay construct to avoid the waves of sand which are coming towards you. They're being stirred up in an unnatural way, truly like tsunamis whipped up by the wind, roaring as they rise majestically, chopping at the horizon.

But what catches your attention is the much smaller, more agile 'creature' that is cutting through the sand as smoothly as the blades of scissors through a sheet of paper. They are as familiar as Deidara's mouths, if in a different fashion: puppets.

You already know that Chiyo as died, so you're sure the person who is controlling the puppets is within the obsession fused heap of knowledge 'rotting' your mind somewhere. Who else has such fine control over the puppets that the jerky constructs move with a certain grace that is missing with most humans? Who controls the puppets with long limbs, extending like a spiders, and marionette mouths?

Your suspicion is confirmed as the wind dies down and pressure drops. You breathe a sigh of relief, only just realising that the gradually building heaviness in the air has dissipated. Unfortunately, that means those hunting you can see you as well as you see them.

There are three of them, three you recognised as _powerful_ ninja. Temari of the Sand, wielding her fan—no doubt the instrument which created those gigantic sand waves—Baki, and Kankurou. Kankurou, the second person on _Naruto_ which you have an incurable obsession with, just not to the extent you drool over Deidara's amazing (according to you) features.

"You dare come back?" Kankurou hisses, to Deidara, and you notice gossamer-fine lines connecting his flexing fingers to the jerky puppets, shifting with ever rise and fall of the sand dunes. It is as if he, and the puppets, and the sloping sands around them are one, moving together to trap you down. Then, he turns to you, but although his eyes narrow, he says nothing to you. "Temari. Back me up here."

The kunoichi smirks in her megawatt confident way, hair rippling with the rising winds which gave her the name she is best known by. The winds will blow with her.

Again, you've underestimated Deidara, maybe because the second person drowning in your affections is present.

He scoffs, almost like Uchiha Sasuke, but not, because, you know, Deidara is _nothing _like that Leaf Brat. Even though Sasuke seems to be strong now. "You overestimate yourselves." His tone is impassive, not bragging, but speaking as if the words are an afterthought. "I would have thought they'd send others who were more of a challenge."

It's Temari's smirk which widens, even though you have a bad feeling that the blood seeping through Deidara's shirt comes from a wound which is doing the exact same. "In your condition?" She points out. "You might have defeated Gaara, but in all fairness it was because you managed to endanger the village. That will not happen now, when there are three of us."

They are ignoring you as if you are not there, but it's understandable, given that there is an S-Class criminal within the immediate vicinity. Even though Deidara is far from his peak condition; even though only a fool underestimates what he does not understand, trying to conquer what he is ignorant of.

Deidara shrugs nonchalantly. Neither of the two present Sand Siblings are fooled. They stand on guard. "My brains are not injured." He retorts.

He obeys protocol and does what a shinobi in his position should. There is a sinking feeling around you, as if energy is a fine wire, and someone at the centre is _pulling_ and _dragging_ all that energy in, and all of you are captured in the spider's web. The construct below you wobbles dangerously; it is starting to come apart.

This is when you realise just what Deidara is doing, somehow managing to bring out enough energy to do so. He is drawing from all around him, the winds of the desert and the power in the ground below his feet, and forcing it into a compact ball of exploding clay to create a bomb.

It takes the sand shinobi only a moment longer to recognise the signs. To their credit, they know better than to stop him.

The bomb explodes.

- - - - -

When you manage to escape those shinobi you notice, for a second time, that the ashy grey that isn't healthy for any human is slowly starting to creep back into Deidara. He used a lot of energy to escape from the three shinobi, energy which he probably would not have been able to afford. And yet, all the same, the creature sweeping through the sky, cupping the two of you in the ruffles of its back, is steady in flight.

You squint down to look at the rapid landscape, passing in a blur, as if an artist had drawn, carefully, every contour and ridge, but another, less skilled, colleague of his, smudged all of the neat lines and waved all the colours to wash together. Perhaps it was a benign result, but the original, bold rhapsody of countryside has been lost.

"Almost there?" You enquire some time later, when the gentle sand dunes are replaced by craggily, gnarled bushes like twisted fingers. The two of you have been flying in the air for such a long time that the noon light has long since given way to the long shadows of dusk—the sun a streak of yellow hidden amongst blood-spattered clouds on the crimson sky—which paint mysterious faces in the ground below.

He glances back at you, and you have to narrow your eyes to stop the sunlight from shining into them. Deidara's form is a silhouette ringed with gold, except for his hair, which shines from the ethereal light. "Soon." He replies vaguely.

A pause.

You try to fill it. "Won't something happen if you let me see inside?"

Deidara shakes his head, almost mournfully. "Leader-sama would see to it that I did not survive another day if I did not introduce the cave to you. But perhaps you are right. It is not too late to hide the more approximate co-ordinates from you."

His hands lift from guiding his constructs, whipping into seals too quickly for you to protest.

His muttered words escape you. All you know is that everything goes black—how cliché.

- - - - -

Surprisingly, there is no exclamation from this girl 'Ryukan' that something strange has happened. She still clings to the handholds on the back of his beautiful creature, fingers digging in so hard her knuckles are turning white. She is very strange, but he cannot be sure since he hasn't really had much interaction with women—girls. Apart from Mai. But Mai has always been the exception.

"You can hear me." He informs her matter-of-factly.

Ryukan nods, but does not say anything. Her fingers clench the hand holds even harder.

Deidara looks around quickly. They are almost at the edges of the Akatsuki 'den', where their strange leader lies in waiting at all times. He wonders if they've found someone to replace him yet. He is supposed to be dead, after all, since the bomb should have destroyed his body.

The Akatsuki member turns back to his very weird companion. "We are almost there." He voices evenly. "When we arrive, I shall remove the jutsu which covers your eyes—not sooner. Do you understand?"

Another nod, whipping up her dark hair—so short that only the tuffs at the back can be bound together, into a puffy, short, ponytail which hardly serves its purpose. Deidara thinks that she must be strange, even amongst her own. Her clothes are not too bad, not unlike what the teenagers wear in cities, but the sleeves are so long as to be impractical whenever she should be moving.

Then again, perhaps not. Ryukan is clearly a civilian.

"Tell me," he says conversationally, "how did you get here? Survive the fall from the sky?"

Ryukan shrugs, and says, "You already know I'm only alive because of the dust."

Deidara wishes that Tobi had been in Ryukan's place. He has a feeling the 'boy' might not have fared so well, and Deidara REALLY wants a new partner. Someone who will not bore him or make him forget his conventions and launch at a throat with 'strangling intent'.

The girl waits, says no more. So Deidara prods, "First question."

She shrugs, nonchalant again. "I come from Planet Ryukan. Far, far away from this world, where quite a lot is different."

He does not press any more, because they arrive at the cave at that moment. He enters, demonstrating several complex gestures and exercises of chakra and knowledge, before the two of them set foot inside. When they do, Deidara releases the jutsu he placed on Ryukan. From the way she is squinting, though, he knows he shouldn't have any trouble hiding what the interior of the cave looks like to her.

Of course, the interior really isn't anything special—not THIS room. In actual fact, there are two sections to the Akatsuki den—the 'sealing room' and 'others'. The sealing room is used only for that purpose, and so the huge statue and instruments around are not quite out of place. When one first enters the 'den', however, it is a completely different story: the room is bare but for a stone chair, where the leader is sitting, meditating.

Deidara's ring flashes, the light betraying that the Leader is sending for him. Or not meditating, after all.

Pein, the leader, rouses himself and sets his gaze on Deidara. "Who?" He inquires simply, not expanding at all.

There is no need to expand, of course. Deidara gestures at Ryukan, who is still trying to see through the gloomy darkness, and tells him, "A girl who literally fell out of the sky, un. Not exceptional, perhaps, but she has knowledge of the rest of us that seems too much for any normal person."

The spiky-haired leader makes a specific gesture with his hands, more like a wave than anything else. Deidara understands. He leads Ryukan to a room, and seals her in. Now Leader-sama and he can speak together without interruption. After all, perhaps this girl Ryukan really DOES have some hidden ability. The Akatsuki survive through a mix of power, skill, and careful planning; it would not do for all that has been achieved to fall apart with a simple mistake.

"So what news is there coming from her?" Pein begins again, his eyes flashing eerily despite the lack of light; or, perhaps, it is just because Deidara's eyes are exceptionally clear and defined.

Whichever the reason, Deidara chooses to heed the cut-to-the-chase-or-I'll-kick-your-arse-using-your-own-chakra warning, and he tells Pein, "She's a civilian, that's for sure, but she both knows who Tobi is, the fact that he is my partner, and she has almost mentioned your appearance—and as far as I know, you hardly ever venture out."

Pein leans back thoughtfully. "The fact that she knows my appearance is, indeed, worrying." He admits. Then he studies Deidara suspiciously. "But you're keeping something back."

Deidara hesitates. For some reason, this seems too personal to explain to someone as cold and uncaring as his leader—

..._why the HELL do you have to tell father everything about us! What does it MATTER if we spend the day together, that I can meld chakra into balls—what does that matter to the relationship we have? I understand that you want to be happy—what person does not with to be happy with their family? But this is really going too far. You want me to respect your privacy. I'll do that when you have respect and care for the privacy of our relationship..._

But he knows better to keep anything from his master. Besides, his master is not his father; his father and he had been close, and yet distant. His relationship with the leader is just distant, without nothing at all shared between the two of them. Except, perhaps, that they both take orders from above . . .

He tells Pein anyway. "Actually, the first thing she said was 'will you marry me?'."

A moment later Deidara is staring. What is Pein doing—he'd always wondered if his leader could laugh. He'd never thought he would find out this way.

The leader shrugs, after his hearty (weird) laughter.

"I have an assignment for you." The Leader begins. "It concerns the Kazekage—and your own thoughts of revenge (having you stay like this will affect the movement of my next plan). If you complete it, well, I might well assign Tobi to someone else."

"I'll do it." Deidara says immediately. But there must be a catch. The leader does nothing that is not for his profit in some way. Ah, well, there is no gain without sacrifice.

Echoing his thoughts, Pein continues, his voice deep, "But there is, of course, a catch, as you well know." He glances at the door behind which you sealed Ryukan. "You must take her with you. I have . . . let's say I have a feeling that she will come in useful some time." He stares at Deidara. "Do you understand?"

Do you understand? Of course he does. Far too well.

"I'll do it." Deidara agrees, reluctantly.

- - - - -

It's dark; and it is silent.

You don't mind the dark so much, but the silence is unnerving; terrifying, even. Helplessly, unwillingly, you curl up against the silence. Silence means that there are predators about. You know, well, that there are always those on the prowl, but somehow, the integration of the two makes the fear seem more real. Violence of the streets and those who lurk behind painted facades don't feel so far away.

Except, of course, for you it isn't quite so far away. You've seen death (even if it's only been of your pet rat, which you hated) and crime (even if it's just Mina filching two dollars off you), and even though it's on a small scale . . . don't great things grow from attention to detail? Does a thick, strong, tree not grow out of a seedling, even nurture and love, and space to grow? Aren't paintings formed with strokes of a brush, or layer by layer in the mind of its artist?

So enraptured are you in impromptu philosophy that you almost fail to hear footsteps ringing on the floor. But it's so quiet that it is almost impossible to miss those sounds, so you turn quickly, and watch. You know, too well, that trying to fall asleep won't fool ANY member of the Akatsuki.

The door opens, so slowly it's rather melodramatic; it's Deidara, in all his blonde-haired glory, and his face is far from amused—just _annoyed_, and as if to do away with all that clique tenderness that's seen in romance novels, his annoyance isn't directed at your prisoner conditions; it's directed at you. Have you offended him, somehow? How could you have, if you've been stuck here _forever_?

His fists, the mouths on them flexing, stiffen and relax, and Deidara tells you simply, his voice strained and serious, "We're going to Suna."

You know better than to argue, so it's only when you have mounted that strange, clay creature again, you ask him, "Then why are you taking me with you? It's not like I can help in any way."

"You'd be surprised." He replies dryly.

You cling as hard as you can to stop from falling off when the clay creature suddenly speeds up; it's nothing romantic, or heady—it's just survival, trying to stay on. You don't want to risk another thousand-metre drop, not so soon.

When you finally catch your breath, you ask him, warily, "Why will I be surprised?"

He doesn't answer you; he's not obliged to, you suppose, in any way.

Now that all of the glitter has been rubbed off your unbelievably far journey, into a place which _shouldn't even exist_, riding with _someone who shouldn't even exist_ (after a few take-that-you-insulting-friends comments, casually thrown in the conversation you've been planning since you arrived with your friends—Mina, Sapphire and Rosa, the former of the two who argue loudly that Deidara doesn't exist when you daydream, and the latter more sympathetic—largely because she is also obsessed with Naruto—but also quietly scorning) you are wary again. But you don't really have any choice, do you?

After a while, when you think it's safe, you untangle your arms from around Deidara's waist at his suggestion, merely clinging onto the hem of his garments in case he 'accidentally' speeds up again. You venture for a safer topic.

"Why did you become a missing nin in the first place?" You ask, then bluntly realise that this is one of the few questions you should _never_ ask one.

But he doesn't chide you or slice off your head. He answers, actually, mildly, "Someone I loved died. And I could no longer stay with the village knowing that justice was not done."

You shake your head. "You sound like one of the good guys, and that's just wrong. Like . . . you're excusing your killing."

"I don't claim to." He responds calmly.

There is another long period of silence. And in a small voice, knowing that you would _never_ had done the same in his place, you ask, "Why did you tell me, when you've known me for—what—a few hours? A question which is supposed to be private for most people; a taboo subject; unmentioned?"

There it is again; the calm glance from his remaining eye, whilst his left one—eerily mechanical—moves about in its _eerily mechanical_ ways. His voice is quiet, and _mild_ even. His answer sort of disappoints you, because you expected someone like him to be a bit more understanding about how much you hate prejudice.

"You are not shinobi."

Like a stack of dominoes, the process of your disillusionment has begun; one has leant over, tilted by a slight breeze or calm hand—you wonder whose hand has such power over lives to through them about uncaringly—and one by one, they are toppling over, falling down, and not even the creator can stop the process.

This—about the nature of gods and the limit of their powers—makes you feel a bit better, soothing the anxiety of the approaching walls of Suna.

- - - - -

To be continued...

- - - - -

**A/N: Please review, even if it's just to flame me for taking so long on this chapter! Constructive criticism & ideas to fill my planned chapters also appreciated.**

--icecreamlova


	3. Chapter 3

"Status: Unconfirmed"

By icecreamlova

- - - - -

- - - - -

3

- - - - -

After watching anime, and reading manga and fanfictions about _Naruto_ for such a long time, you're half-sure that the walls of Suna are either covered with dust, or dotted with innumerable plants, with the broad range of ideas that seem to crop up—you weren't sure, before coming to this world, if the Village Hidden in Sand even _had _a wall.

It turns out, strangely enough, that there is sort of a half-wall of crumbling bricks ringing with enough chakra even _you_ can feel it—and Deidara winces as he passes, slightly—while the rest of the village is fortified with gently sloping sand dunes which, you know, will turn diamond-hard and as sharp as blades if the Kazekage finds any reason to doubt whatever reason the two of you are in the village for.

To rectify this is why Deidara pauses a few hundred metres out, behind the heaps of sand which are so much bigger than those at home. He turns around, and leaps off the clay construct—you follow, quickly—before it folds into itself and disintegrates into puddles of a wet substance.

"Normally," he tells you, voice suddenly very serious and business-like, "I'd be working with another member who actually knows what to do, but this is obviously an unusual case, a mission slightly different from those before, un. And, of course, you're coming with me so it gives rise to many unseen problems—like the fact you wouldn't be able to defend yourself if your life depends on it, which it probably will, un."

You frown at that, and protest, "Hey!" Because you've been bugging your parents to let you attend karate lessons _forever_. Unfortunately, they haven't agreed yet, and Deidara is sort of right, so you murmur, "Every person will fight when their survival counts on it. It just depends on how fiercely."

He says, "Perhaps," A little dismissively, and adds, "But you wouldn't stand a chance against shinobi, un."

There is nothing to say to this; you are silent.

He takes a seat on a smaller outcrop of sand, which stays firm despite his weight on it, but even so, his muscles are tensed in a way that no one would mistake for relaxed.

"Even you must know that going undercover means you've gotta have a good cover story—and don't even think of trying to escape. I can easily find you, no matter what the Kazekage says, and so can any other member of the Akatsuki. Besides, there wouldn't be any guarantee that they would be civil while _questioning_ you."

"I am aware of that." You remark dryly. "I'm not _that_ ignorant."

He denigrates, "Could have fooled me."

You realise you know exactly what he means. What person walks up to an Akatsuki member and announces that you know more than you should about the organisation and their plans? Even a star-struck one? So you abandon this pointless argument. Your life is far more important than winning a single dispute.

"So what would the cover story be?" asks you, thinking it might be better if the two of you find a story you agree with, rather than messing up while reciting impromptu background.

Deidara shrugs. "I can do a lot, un, but I don't know what your capabilities are. Where do you come from?"

_Another world_, you do not say. If they knew that... well, you don't really want to think of it. Unconsciously, you chew on your bottom lip and turn to look at the sky, a tactic which has never failed you in the important exams you've sat; for all that you're not quite sixteen yet.

"Well," you say slowly, still staring at the sky in spite of your aching eyes, "to tell the truth, I come from"—are there cities? You'll just have to stick to towns—"a rather large town from the... um, south. But I can't remember the name."

The Akatsuki member doesn't even bother being offended or anything. He just says, "You'll have to do better than that if you want to work to fool others. Maybe you should just act a mute, un, or someone touched in the head to escape questioning."

_...That's right. Play the fool in all the time, and _never_ reach your potential. You want to know why I'm angry, Ryukan? It has absolutely nothing to do with ditching school, because even _I've_ always wanted to a few times in my youth. It's because someone made such a huge sacrifice to let you live, and you are just hiding away and sulking because he did that for you. Such a good way to repay someone who loved you..._

You turn away. It's true that someone saved your life, but it has absolutely nothing to do with this situation. It's just... the locations stirs up old memories, and you realise, that despite the fact you've only been in this world from the day at most (the sun blinds you impressively) you miss your friends—especially Mina who you've seen and talked to for practically every day of your life. And your mother, who shouted at you the first day you played truant.

Caustically, you say to Deidara, "If I'm a really bad liar, then the shinobi should be able to tell straight away that I am not speaking the truth when I declare myself to be mute." You stretch out against your own dune of sand, aware that bright light from that globe above named the sun is making images waver in front of your eyes. "I've always heard, though," you continue casually, "that not speaking the whole truth is different from lying."

His eyes narrow, but he doesn't press whatever it is about your words he finds suspicious. Instead, he agrees, "You're right. We'll have to find a different approach."

- - - - -

You've decided, now, looking over yourself, that if you had ninja skills it would be _just so cool_; but, unfortunately, you don't. What happens when Deidara saunters off to whatever his task is proves it straight of.

A wind picks up grains of sand from the dunes, and whip it past you. In that blinded moment, someone attacks...

You've seen enough fighting on 'Naruto' to know what to do, and know it in real life.

It's an S-Rank ninja, stronger than Itachi and Orochimaru put together. Quickly, activating your other-worldly-Mary-Sue powers, push chakra into your legs to move quickly, manipulate your foe into falling into the simplest traps, and even manage to keep your hair tidy so that Deidara will admire your 'do. It's so simple! When you finish beating up the S-Rank nin, you laugh hard into the bright light...

Yeah. In your dreams.

What really happens is that an eight-year-old flies out from behind a dune and knocks you to the ground before you manage to blink, and when your eyes open again you're face flat in harsh sand, and something cold and wet is in your hair. It's disgusting--oh yeah, and your over-reacting senses feel the sharp edge of a kunai cutting into the nape of your neck, cold and much harder than the sand that is starting to creep into your mouth.

The boy, the eight-year-old who defeated you, is glaring down at you with surprise. This makes you feel better, but not by much, and even that is shattered by, "How weak are you? I'm eight years old, and I've only just started training last year, yet I've taken you, a fifteen-year-old, down without a blink."

You idly wonder, in the part of your mind that isn't trying to control the redness creeping into your face, if this is payback for punching a four-year-old and breaking his nose in the real world. "Huh?"

The surprise on his face relents a little, but he is still wary; though he retreats, he doesn't move to help you up. "You're not a shinobi, then." He states in a voice more devoid of emotion than you'd have thought was possible for a boy his age. "Since I am, I suppose it's my job to ask you what you're doing here, around the wall of Sunagakure no Sato."

Now is the moment you and Deidara discussed. You wonder if he's watching you now with scornful amusement at the way you were taken down so easily; he was right—you _would _be a liability. So why did he bring you?

The slight shifting of the wannabe shinobi drags you unwillingly out of your muses, and you say, in the steady voice you practised,

"I'm a visitor to this place. You can tell, from the way I look, that I don't come from these parts." _That's true now; Deidara performed a transformation on you, so that the shinobi who'd sighted the two of you together wouldn't recognise you_. "But I would like to get into those walls."—_so that I don't get stuck out here in the heat for nothing_. "Just to meet someone I know."

He stares at you for a long moment. The boy says nothing for a long time.

The creeping sensation of nervousness makes your stomach roll. Has he found out that you were spilling out only half-truths? Technically, you weren't lying...

"Why don't you have any water with you?" he asks bluntly. "Don't you know it's dangerous?"

"Well—" you begin, but that suspicious look has gone already. He leads you inside the 'gate', and you follow, idly wondering where Deidara is. Watching him humming, you realise that, no matter how much ninja training this young boy has received, how much of a genius he must be—compared to the other ninja his age who are running and shouting through the streets, since he's already received his hita-ate—he's not a perfect ninja.

He is a genius, there is no doubt about it, but this boy has not experienced any true life-threatening situations.

Then, unexpectedly, his phrase to you nags at the edges of your mind.

_Why don't you have water with you? Don't you know it's dangerous?_

You never answered the question. So why is he so relenting to you, more than _any _eight-year-old ninja should be after asking a perfectly reasonable question with a suspicious answer?

"Here we are," he announces before you can come up with any plan.

It's just as well, because you certainly wouldn't have been able to outrun the ninja who is no more than three feet behind you. You recognise this person, too—and not just from the show. But because you saw him in 'real life'.

Kankurou, who would certainly have recognised you from the desert after running away from the sand ninja.

At first he says nothing to you; maybe sensing that you really aren't any threat, with about zero chakra and moving with all the grace of an elephant on a giant skateboard. Still, you can feel the familiar prod of a sharp weapon at the base of the spine. He's certainly not taking any chances.

"Go," he tells the boy, who nods—and puffs into smoke into a shinobi you don't recognise, someone about twice your age (fifteen) with his hita-ate tied around his left arm. His clothes are still steaming when he smiles jauntily and flickers into shadow. Then, finally, Kankurou turns to you and reminds you, "You're coming with me now. And you know why."

There's no point in struggling because it would just be a waste of energy, yet all the same you're forced to suppress the urge to run away as quickly as you can. It's quite obvious where he's going to take you, because you know what happens to suspected criminals.

You know that they are certainly not going to let you go just because you are fifteen years old—Uchiha Itachi, after all, butchered his clan at the ripe, old age of twelve—or because you are not a shinobi—Ganto, who tried to take over Wave Country, was a tiny man about half your size, and yet did such great damage that it was heard of even in Suna—so your only hope is Deidara.

But you doubt that he'll help you. After all, what is the point?

- - - - -

"What did you find?" Temari asks her brother quizzically, shifting her fan on her back into a different position. "I don't recall you ever being regularly assigned to The Basement."

Kankurou leans against the wall, his ear to it. "Neither are you," he points out, "it's a rare case now, you coming to drop off news from Konoha for the missing nin we find coming from there."

She shrugs, nonchalant, but when a dark-haired man swathed in robes—the Suna head torturer—walks past into a different room, they are both swift to fall into silence. It stretches on until Temari says, "You haven't answered my question."

The boy rolls his eyes, his fingers twitch, and the puppet by his feet shifts slightly. Temari does not even look at it, focused on her brother when he finally replies, "Remember the two we found in the desert on our way back from Konoha? _Deidara_," he pronounces it as if it is a plague, "and the girl at his back, the one we didn't notice?"

"You found _them_?"

"Her," Kankurou corrects, "And according to our head torturer, she's not telling us anything about her."

Temari's lips thin. "Torturer?" she asks in a deceptively quiet voice.

Kankurou changes it to a much milder, "Interrogator. It was obvious from the beginning that she knew nothing—no one can fake ignorance that well—and the one designed to use less comfortable techniques left for something more important." He looks up as another man leaves from a room with a door swathed with brown-red, the source of the colour not all paint and rust. "That's probably her."

He turns to leave, but before actually going Temari tells him, "When you're done, meet us at the normal place. I have news from Konoha."

They are shinobi. Shinobi do not show emotions under any circumstances, and Kankurou is a shinobi—and so is Temari. So despite the bad news that both are anticipating, Kankurou simply nods and crosses the threshold. Before he gets any closer, the interrogator whispers something to him very quietly, so that the person within cannot hear.

"There is only one part of the conversation which I find interesting." He tells Kankurou.

"Which one?" Kankurou enquires.

"Just a sentence," the employee of the Basement tells him, "When I asked her where her heart lies, she said that it was unable to function any longer. And that 'her heart was not her own'. But I don't think that she'd have told me anything, and whether it is relevant or not still remains to be seen."

Kankurou frowns at the girl, sitting in the chair inside the room, thoughtfully. "She certainly doesn't look heartless."

The employee shrugs. "I doubt it was what she meant. Good day"—he says this pointedly—"Kankurou-sama. I have pressing business to attend to."

"Yes," says Kankurou, moving to let him pass.

The man walks out beside him silently, and he turns to stare at the girl named Ryukan with impassive eyes.

- - - - -

It's nearly impossible to _really _dream without falling asleep, so you suspect that your current state is due to some sort of herb someone must have mixed into the bottle of water that the interrogator gave you. You remember, feeling sleepy, that he looked at you quizzically when you took it and gulped it down. No doubt _no one_ is supposed to drink from the enemy, but you're so thirsty from speaking that you can't find the strength to care.

Abandonment. Mina always said it would be the death of you some day. It seems she was right—except, you aren't dead, just drowsy and unable to think past the pounding sleeplessness of your head.

Then, after too long trying to listen through the buzzing, shifting noise of perpetually eavesdropping sand, the interrogator leaves without any threat of torture, and you realise exactly how lucky you were—for your whole time here, no matter how much you're starting to dislike this world. You've dropped down a thousand feet. You've been captured by the Akatsuki because of your flaw of flaunting your knowledge. And sand shinobi who saw you _with_ one of the wanted Akatsuki members aren't torturing you for information.

It is some time before you realise that someone is watching with dark, unreadable eyes at the door. Squinting, you just make out the line of his body in the shadows—as far as you know, you are underground and so there is no natural lighting—and the dark oblong shape. A puppet.

With effort, you bite back a gasp, and although it is impossible to see his face, Kankurou's body shifts until there s a smug aura radiating from it; and there is an aura of caution, too, that you've recognised him, because shinobi are people of the shadow who like to stay nameless. Yet you can't help but stare with eyes used to the darkness of the room by now.

"So," says Kankurou casually, as if he has just returned from a meeting with stranger shinobi, "you recognise me. From the desert? I'll credit you with good memory, then, since you couldn't possibly seen me for more than a few moments." He studies you. "Or, at least, I think so." But he doesn't sound uncertain.

You shake your head, trying to clear your foggy mind, but say nothing. You've learnt your lesson about flinging your knowledge this way and that, and you'd rather not suddenly find yourself in a Catherine Wheel or over a rack.

He tells you, "I'm surprised that someone like you was captured so easily, although you are not a shinobi. Not even a civilian should be so incautious."

Talking would be bad. You do not say a thing.

Kankurou says, "Are you mute, or just plain stupid?"

His accusation is absolutely correct, because you blurt out immediately, "I am _not_!" Before realising your mistake, and since it's too bad to rectify, you continue anyway, "You must be the dumb one! What other person would be so devoid of fashion sense that he parades around with war paint even though I'm sure you're not under siege?"

You can see he is about to reply, but another voice, lazy and amused, drawls out from the door, "She's got you there, little brother. Why, I've never—" The girl—Temari, you realise—ducks under a swing of a fisted hand and raises and eyebrow. "—thought I'd ever agree with a prisoner." She finishes, before frowning, "Speaking of which, this is the one we met in the desert? Why is she so free in her chair?"

The younger of the siblings says, a little defensively, "Even the interrogator knew that she presented no threat."

"The best spies usually seem innocent," Temari says very softly, "That is why they are used so often." Then she studies you. "But I happen to believe that she is not guilty of anything, if you want my opinion, Kankurou."

He grumbles, "I never asked for it."

But Temari says, "You did, even though you didn't realise it," before striding out, flinging behind her, "_Don't be late_. I doubt Gaara will like it."

Kankurou will leave you, you realise, and you have to take the opportunity to run off from here. You'd rather not cause further suspicion and give rise to an order of torture. You wouldn't last very long under torture. Besides, your heart would probably give out under pressure, and you've already made a promise to live—even if no one knows it here.

_Such a good way to repay someone who loved you…_

No, you can't let torture get to you. You have to escape.

- - - - -

In the darkness, there is a compulsion to dream about the outside world.

After being kept away from it for a long time, just like anything else, a human begins to put the outside world upon a pedestal, and devote a whole life looking for it. But, because life is never fair, their hopes and expectations rise, and then are crushed by reality.

Some seek to distance themselves from reality, to live a dream life. Those who choose this way are peaceful folk, who mind themselves. Others are not so placid, and struggle to change the world so that it matches their expectations. Needless to say, few from either method are successful, because reality knocks gently at first, and if given no room to work her magic, slings on boots and knocks down the door without any fear or retaliation.

Because, really, who can hide from the truth no matter how hard they try, no matter how long they run? Even a genjutsu has room for reality, and it is this flaw which creates a crack in the surface, that the victim can wrench open and through which escape a binding.

Pain is the most usual binding. And shock, of course, from an unexpected turn of fate which can drag a happy person from a charmed life and force her to look at reality.

No one can be shielded from the world forever.

The old sayings are true: one does not realise this until it is discovered the hard way.

- - - - -

At home you've always wondered why the damsels-in-distress do not try to escape by themselves. It is only now that you are realising that it is not because they do not try, but because it is so darn difficult to! Only, in your thoughts where you can swear as much as you want, you don't say 'darn'. In fact, the word begins with an F.

After a wasted period of time stalking around the room, as far as the chakra-reinforced chain around your ankle will let you, you just plop down on the chair and think. It is rather obvious that trying to use force will result in nothing more than pain for you, and probably glee for whichever sadist designed this room to be so creepy and intimidating.

You'll have to use your mind, which wasn't really much help back in your world. Maybe it will work better here.

First you assess what you can still use: the Suna shinobi have left your hands untied, and the chain around your left ankle is loose enough to allow a range of moment, just short of letting the victim slip out. The clothing you have is not quite enough to protect you from the cold, as you were wearing them with the intent of staying inside and letting your heater blast out waves of warmth, but the cloth is good quality.

And you have some knowledge of Suna—not about this room, because you did not know that it existed (this specific room; you knew, of course, that Suna had an interrogation room), but that is also something. And, unlike your screw-up with Deidara, the shinobi do not realise how much knowledge you actually possess about their town and the people running it.

All the same, your opinion on damsels-in-distress comes back to haunt you: you are not a damsel, exactly, but you are certainly in some degree of distress. In this room, it seems so much harder to get out than you scorned the ladies, and your carefully prepared plans did not include 'being-forced-into-the-interrogation-cell-of-a-village-which-does-not-even-exist', so they are not much help. Perspective makes the most difference.

When Kankurou returns he does not look angry, but amused that you are trying to touch the roof in case there is some sort of switch to let you out of it. His puppet creaking all the same, he tells you, "There is no way out of the room the way you are currently trying. In fact, you don't need to try."

You pause immediately, and turn to regard him with narrowed eyes, to try and see more features than a silhouette. "Why don't I need to try?" You say suspiciously.

"Because," says Kankurou, taking his time, "The Kazekage wants to see you." He rubs his nose.

And it reminds you a lot of Mina—when she is lying.

Since you will probably be crushed to death of you see Gaara, anyway, you don't feel afraid—much—when you say, "You're lying. My friend does that, rubbing her nose, just when she is about to tell a big lie. Where are you really taking me?"

It is impossible to discern why, but Kankurou seems to relax immediately. You feel as though you've passed a test which meant the difference between life and death, or, death and further interrogation. It probably _was_ a test of such importance, now that you think about it.

"Good," Kankurou says. "I _am_ lying. As for where you are going—I doubt even _Deidara_ leaves a friend in distress."

You are going to be bait for the person you've had an infatuation with since you first glimpsed him on the screen of a television. Oh, god—except you are not Christian, you are Wiccan, so it is really 'oh _goddess_' instead. "So you are going to be my 'bodyguard' I suppose? Stay around me to protect civilians in case _Deidara_ comes knocking?"

"Of course," says Kankurou casually, as if you two are speaking about the weather in Konoha.

You want to slump down, or pretend you have fainted, but Kankurou does not let you. When you try to pretend to have lost consciousness, Kankurou just shakes his head with the tiniest of amused smirks, and you feel something prickly holding onto his arms.

Prickly things. You hate them: the shock of the sting took a life, you remember, and you don't want to repeat the experience.

"I'll walk!" You snap, and shrug the puppet away with a shudder. You've always loved it in your world, but now in Suna everything is different—except Kankurou's second smirk in as many seconds, which is exactly what you imagined it to be, as he leads you up into the sunlight.

- - - - -

Placating fear is harder than it seems.

The shivers rolling down your spine and creeping up your arms are too difficult to hide, because Kankurou seems to have noticed the moment you began, and even now there is the slightest of smiles at his mouth as he strolls behind you. The tell-tale clicks of puppets moving underground, and sand sliding under your feet only make your fear even more real, although you try and soothe yourself with the fact Temari is not present, and thus no wind is tearing at your face.

Maybe you are suffering from Stockholm's Syndrome, because you are on almost good terms with the enemy. "So you are saying that I wouldn't be able to even _try_ out for the ninja academy because the natural flow of chakra in my body was disturbed before I had any control over it."

Kankurou shrugs, his hands thrust casually into the practically invisible pockets of his jacket. "Exactly. It usually happens when, at some point of your life—especially in childhood, when the chakra coils in a person are still strengthening. Your coils are almost completely developed according to the schedule for civilians your age, but one of the . . . questioners told me that there is something wrong with part of your chest."

You pale quickly. People in this world are far too fast at figuring things out. Normally, you would try to turn away, but then it would tell the truth even quicker than hiding an expression of the face.

"Ah," Kankurou says, glancing over at your face and coming to conclusions anyway, "So that is what the interrogator meant." He fiddles in his pockets, nudging the cloth just enough that a different pocket—one previously invisible—opens up. Just how many pockets are there, anyway? "Are you sure you should have been hanging around with the people you know, then?"

A laugh manages to escape you, and you think furiously _Stockholm's Syndrome! Nothing else!_ Deidara and Kankurou are both holding you captive, even though Kankurou is currently the one pulling the strings (no pun intended).

"I haven't had a heart attack yet," you point out, smiling despite your resolution.

There is a guarded look in Kankurou's eyes, just like when Aya catches you frowning at her after some deeply insightful piece of philosophy delivered as if she is reading out a textbook. You suppose there is some similarity between the situations: you have known the two for a long time, but you do not _know_ them as well as you wish.

Kankurou, unlike Aya, manages to keep himself relaxed, though.

He tells you, "Anyone else would." He does not just mean you. "Just who are you?"

There is nothing to say except, "I am Ryukan."

As quick as lightening, annoyance flashes across his face. Under his dark hood, it is a wonder you can see his face at all, though, so you do not put much weight on it. Kankurou leads the conversation down a different lane entirely as you cross under the first over-hanging and crossing buildings you have seen in Sunagakure so far, and you close your eyes to relax in the shadows.

The Suna ninja—the only one you can see, although no doubt the Kazekage is paying attention and there are ANBU close by—tells you, "Sunagakure was founded at the same time as most of the other villages, a bit older the Konoha, about when the borders of the old countries came under dispute again."

He is assuming that you know the _real_ countries, or at least the ones featured in the manga, and you do not care to enlighten him.

"There are other shinobi villages just as ancient," Kankurou continues, "But this area stretches back far longer than most because this area had once been a royal capital. But the capitals have changed now, lying closer to the Land of Fire, and this village was put in the place of the dying one. I, for one, think that the new shinobi village replacing the old is better, though that may just be because I am biased."

You frown at him sharply. "What was wrong with the old capital? You speak as if there is something wrong about the Land of Wind as a whole, and so everything was weaker including the old capital, and that the land wouldn't have survived with it in place."

Kankurou does not look startled at all.

He says, "There was nothing wrong with Suna as a whole, of course, but sometimes things change and no one can help it." He smiles at one of the buildings, probably enjoying the piece of history, very old and very noticeable, a point of antiquity that drags every eye to it, like a gap in a row of teeth. "I suppose this being a shinobi village was a disappointment to those who treasured the capital and it blocks some of the older trade routes, but it brings in new life where the older capital could not help but die."

"What was the name of the old capital anyway, since we're using it so much?" You ask softly.

He glances at you. "Does it matter?"

What can you say? You stay silent.

It is a long time in the coming, and the two of you stride past more gaps in teeth—um, more ancient buildings before you think to ask, "Why are you telling me this? Do you make a habit of entertaining every captive?"

"You are not a shinobi," Kankurou points out lazily, glancing up in a casual manner as if to stretch, "So I suppose you still qualify as human enough. Besides, you are the only one who has needed this prep talk, so I might as well tell you or _I_ will get bored on the way." He stops at a three-way intersection, the roads oddly loose despite the noise coming from it while you and Deidara were outside the city. "You did come from a place far away, right?"

The place is very familiar, because you have walked along most of the roads, but just as Kankurou—and you by extension because of the chakra strings attached casually to your limbs, as if you were the puppet—start towards one of the roads he freezes then swerves to a different road. It is just for a second, and you only notice because the pull on your limbs turn quickly.

The road is familiar, also, and sure enough a cell looms up.

The friendly look on Kankurou's face is but a pale gleam now, as he brings you inside and then shuts the cell door on you. Well, at least there is a bed, because you are 'supposedly' bait for them and completely harmless—no chakra, and no strength.

He says only, "I guess you being bait wasn't tempting enough."

You wonder what he means by that—is he going to resort to more violent measures . . . ? But they would hardly work, right? It really does wonders for your self-esteem that Deidara values you so little, but that part hardly matters.

- - - - -

To be continued . . .

- - - - -

A/N: All feedback appreciated (theories & questions are all welcome). Even though I don't like replying to the reviews for some unnameable reason, I do read all of them.

The second person POV (you) can be used by anyone.

Kankurou was, indeed, testing Ryukan. Body-language reading should be a primitive instinct, but he did deliberate movements that any shinobi would have seen through—and Ryukan, obviously, fell for most of them. I sometimes wonder where I came up with such a character . . .

--icecreamlova

**Edit – 13/1/2008:** Sorry I didn't notice it, but a chunk of this chapter somehow got deleted. I'm just reposting it now.


	4. Chapter 4

"Status: Unconfirmed"

By _icecreamlova_

- - - - -

- - - - -

4

- - - - -

You do not see Kankurou the next day, but the day after that Temari, who looks half-curious and half-rebellious, steps into your cell. She has left behind her huge fan, and the clothing she is wearing is the most informal that you have seen so far, the type of baggy material that hangs off her.

"I'm your companion today," she says dryly, "And I assure you that I did not ask to do this."

Resentfully, you push yourself off the bed—on which you were idly tracing circles in the absence of your usual, equally idle entertainment—and stifle a gasp of discomfort at the rock-like surface on one edge as you skim over it. "Then why bother? I'm sure Suna does not need to have one of its top Jounin looking over little old me. You said yourself that I wasn't any trouble."

She tells you, oddly subdued, "I might have been wrong. How stop gaping and get out."

Sighing, you follow her up the stairs, noting a little absently that she picks up the fan and slings it across the shoulder. It is only when you are outside, squinting in the sudden glare of dazzling white sun blasting waves of heat through the air onto the hot cobblestones, that you catch Temari looking over her shoulder a few times more often than Kankurou did.

"Did something happen?" You murmur, moving as carefully as you can manage. Unlike Kankurou, Temari does not use chakra strings; she employs the services of winds, causing them to trace precise routes, which split your skin whenever you move too abruptly or too far. _Much_ worse than Kankurou's more passive method.

"Stuff," says Temari dismissively, "To do with Konoha and Na—" she stops, catching herself on a word unuttered, and looks sheepish. "Kankurou was right."

You say sarcastically, "That Deidara might help? It's been three days. If he really cared about me, or what I stand for he would have tried by now. Isn't it not unusual for shinobi to be _interrogated_ in much more aggressive ways than I have?"

You and Temari are approaching a more deserted area of the village now, less crowded as the glare of the sun is not hindered by colourful draperies of stalls or tall buildings casting giant shadows; it is much closer to the wall, higher latitude than the rest of the village, for you can see the tops of the taller buildings stretching towards the bright sky. It's only when you start taking deeper, quicker, breaths that you realise your jaunt has sped up, that the incline is steeper than any part of the village you've seen.

"That's true," Temari admits, and for a moment you are confused about the late answer before understanding—but your wonder on _which_ question Temari is really replying to does not fade. She pauses at the top, blending almost seamlessly to the mortars in a way you cannot help but envy even as your mind dulls ad the edges from exhaustion.

"What is?" gasps you, hands on knees.

Temari glances at you and her face changes oddly, though it's hard to pinpoint what parts, exactly, have moved, and what that look is. Her hands stray towards the glinting metal of her fan but she doesn't use it.

Finally, looking up, she answers, "You are not shinobi, Ryukan. How can you understand how we work? Nevertheless, you are dangerous enough because of the people you know, even if you claim to be less than acquaintances. I'll let you in on a secret." Her voice is as faded as the fans. "Some of the most deadly people in the world are shinobi. More are not."

"Oh," you say, and then pause. "But what about me? Why are you even bothering?"

You realise in the next moment you've been deluding, thinking you might even be 'friends' because Temari's smile drops. "If nothing, your organs are useful for transplants, because—in case you haven't noticed—Suna's medical facilities are not very developed."

A single step back would bring you tumbling down the incline, yet stones are skittering before you notice.

..._I'm sorry, but these facilities are newly developed and without the resources that others have. The only way we function is... well, you know already. If I recall correctly, you were one of those who spoke out against it. I see that you have changed your mind because of your daughter—the way mothers think, that it's their children before the rest of the world. I'll try to find someone, of course, but I'm afraid I cannot promise you anything..._

A shudder ripples through you, though from that long-distant memory of six years ago or another close shave with injury you don't know, and you certainly don't _care_ to know. All that matters is that there's someone in front of you who is perfectly capable of killing you, probably has no restraints, and has just listed a perfectly reasonable basis on doing so.

You of all people would know.

Temari actually laughs then. _Laughs_. "Don't worry. I won't do that to you, yet, and I hate hospitals as it is. The last few times I entered I had to give pep talks to several people." You remember that too, watching the episode while Mina coughed obsession at every opportunity. Noticing your expression, Temari smirks. "Are you taking it seriously?"

The shake of the head you give as answer doesn't satisfy her, and Temari is perfectly correct in thinking that you did take it seriously. Why shouldn't you? There are places like that in your world.

"It doesn't matter does it?" You manage to croak out. "I mean, everyone dies."

If you didn't know better you would swear that Temari's face has darkened, and that she mutters, "Not if I can help it."

You decide you don't want to know; your life is more important to you than any of a single anime.

"Don't try to understand us," Temari announces finally on the way down, you only managing to walk because you don't want to get cut by the winds. "That's my advice. Don't try to judge us before you understand what we do, because being a ninja is neither a barbaric position to be cut off tradition nor a career of pure glory, like those kids seem to think."

She's looking at children playing on the side of the roads, tossing what seem to be wooden shuriken, and in their faces you can see something that's painfully absent in Temari's and Kankurou's and yes, even Deidara's. But, oddly enough, you think that you can still see traces of it when you look in the mirror—fast fading, true, but still _there._

Then one of the children manages to piece the heart of the stuffed dummy, and you turn away quickly. That, if anything, convinces you that you will _never_ be shinobi far more than the days you have spent here already; not because you don't have the capability, but because you don't _want_ to. If you do, you'll forget the value of a heart—literal and figurative. It really drives those idle daydreams out of your heart.

"Why?" It's rapidly becoming the most-used world in your vocabulary. Before Temari asks you to expand, you say quickly, "Why tell me. Just _because I am not shinobi?_"

Temari pauses before speaking. "In a way. I just don't want someone who could still have a normal life to give it up." Her tone is wistful, and then wicked as she adds, "I'll never give up what I have, of course."

You nod, then turn away.

Before you go far, Temari says quickly, "Where do you think Deidara is?"

"I have no idea." You reply before thinking, in your true-to-god honest way. You turn to find Temari still watching you, not poised to leave as you'd been thinking. She simply grins at you, and, this time, leaves and shuts the door behind her.

It's not even late afternoon yet.

- - - - -

By nightfall of that day you are bored out of your mind, but even so you dare not scream out loud in an attempt to shatter the silence. It's not really silence, of course—not with the moans of the other prisoners, but you're trying to ignore the way their speech, devoid of any lucidity, burrows into your mind.

So far, it isn't working very well.

The temptation to join them, to cave in to that instinct, is almost unnaturally strong. So much you have to bury your face into your pillow, partly to muffle their voices, but mostly to keep your mouth from opening and joining them in their eerie chorus, like the wails of some tortured soul or a ghost bound to a single building or memory (which doesn't really help your mindset at all).

It's because of this, trying to ignore everything, that you miss the footsteps approaching until the dull murmur of voices silences the other prisoners so effectively you just have to look up. Two people—who sound very much like a tired Temari and a sullen Kankurou—have stopped outside your door, and you can just see the silhouettes of their sandaled feet in the crack below your door, just the way trees line the side of the mountain and interrupt the horizon.

"How long are we going to keep her here?" says Kankurou's voice, sounding like a child who's just been told his birthday party was cancelled, "If she's obviously of no use?"

You can almost imagine the side-long look along Temari's face, the type that accompanies a sly load of words. "Why? Want to set her free?"

Kankurou snorts.

His older sister sounds exasperated. "I can almost say I understand you, but I don't. I thought you hated city dwellers for pushing us to where we were." This is met by a snicker, and Temari asks, "What?"

"Like either of us have met a city dweller."

There is a long, languid pause where you would have eagerly tried to grab the tension in the air and twist it into a key, or something, to set you free; but you are stuck inside, listening.

Temari's words are so sudden she seems to be changing the subject, but when you listen closely something whispers at the edges of your mind, cutting through the recesses where you have retreated from boredom. "Have you heard about that new machine they've developed? For hopping?"

"Silly," says Kankurou, "As if any of us would trust what those city folk make, especially on something like that." It sounds like Kankurou has turned, from the scuff of his feet, but you can't be sure. "Scientists, please. It's because of them that the others have thrown us out, because they fear what they don't know about chakra. People who think that humans are just a single cosmic mistake... I certainly wouldn't trust them to make something as complicated as a Dimensional Hopper."

You freeze.

The Kazekage's sister sighs, "But it's the only way." Her voice is very serious. "That's why I'm needed on a guard mission, bringing it from here to Konoha, and that's why _you're_ the one who's going to escort our prisoner this time. Not too hard, is it? Remember, any messages to and from Suna need the identification papers. The city folk aren't taking any chances."

Kankurou doesn't say yes. But, oddly enough, there isn't a laugh or a snicker, just the sound of the door opening.

"You know to get out," directs Kankurou, still looking over his shoulder at the wall.

You stretch and hop off the bed. A Dimensional Hopper. If it's true, it could be enough to get you home. But what if it is not? So, while barging through the streets—still oddly crowded even at dusk—you ask him, "What's a Dimensional Hopper?"

"Interested?" he says casually, barely glancing at you, but you struggle to keep your composure, knowing that even a little bit will give you away. The ninja must have been rubbing off on you, because when Kankurou _does_ glance at you he appears to notice nothing, just directs you down another lane.

"So," you finally announce, trying to ward off torturous quiet, "How long until I don't have value? It's not like someone is going to break into my jail cell with a clay bomb or something, because you guys would notice it too easily."

Kankurou leans against the wall, regarding you thoughtfully. You can almost see the processes going through his mind, though whether your guess—that he's thinking telling you will not do any harm—is close to the truth you'll probably never find out. "Have you ever heard the theory of alternate dimensions?"

Caught off guard, you say, "No."

The Suna nin points out, "Then what you want to know of other dimensions for? This is the one that will ever matter to you."

"Please?"

He grimaces. "Fine, fine." As he leads you out again you try not to look around nervously. You've never really been out here at night before, and the darkness leaves too much to imagination. "The theory of city dwellers is that in the space between atoms that make up our dimension are atoms which make up _another_ dimension, or even _many_ others. Their machine is exact enough to give that tiny amount of kinetic energy to shift all the atoms that make up your body the miniscule distance needed to change dimensions."

"You don't sound convinced," you say blandly, approaching a long wall, one of the many littering the plain outside the Village of Sand. You area already outside Suna's gates, and the chilly wind scrapes your bones. The wall seems… familiar, somehow. As if someone has described it in writing but it's the first time you've seen it before.

Snorting, Kankurou proclaims, "They're scientists. The people who say DNA is the source of everything. That's like saying that a scroll detailing how a jutsu works actually _makes_ the jutsu work. That's just stupid. Someone has to _activate_ the jutsu. A scroll will just sit there and do nothing. Besides, the scientists need shinobi because of what we can provide for the machine. Something they don't know how to utilise."

You consider this, but another fact overlaps your thoughts. "Are you usually like this to all your prisoners?"

His reply comes slowly, the way his footsteps are lingering at the wall, just like you. In silence your eyes are drawn to the cracks which form an odd shape along the wall, like the outlines of a—a person.

"I'm not a saint," Kankurou says, "I'll be the first to admit it. But I'm not someone who will kill for the heck of it. I might be a tool, but not even a tool can float in midair and stab someone of its own accord. You seem innocent to both me and Temari, and the interrogator too." For some reason, he seems to be shifting, stepping between you and the wall as he speaks. "So I won't kill you."

"Not the way Deidara might," he adds.

You step back, feet sinking in the sand. "That's not going to work, you know. I really don't know where Deidara is."

He turns to look at you, but his eyes only linger on you for a moment before it scans the skyline, searching for something. It takes moments for him to find it, before turning around again, his hands behind his back. His fingers are moving—but you're not. All you can hear are faint clattering sounds, which seem to be coming from underneath you.

Your eyes widen.

"That's fine," says Kankurou grimly, as he joins your wrists with thin shinobi wires pulled out of nowhere, "Because I do."

Everything happens in a split second, and you'll later wonder how it is that you saw it all.

A puppet—Karasu—skids to a stop in front of Kankurou, joints clicking and points tipped in so much poison it looks like they've been painted with henna and blueberry juice.

Shinobi pour out of nowhere, most looking oddly alike—bunshin, you guess—as they filter across the dunes, touching down briefly on one sand dune before leaping to the next. Glints of light are shuriken and kunai in their fingers.

The wall in front wavers, then shimmers to form Deidara looking annoyed.

What really catches your attention, though, is that he has managed to form another bomb in your hands.

Fight or Flight makes you run with all your strength behind the closest sand dune, so that when the vicinity shakes and a wall of sand rises behind you—no doubt the Kazekage's doing—to protect Suna, there's enough cover for you to hide, despite the shower of weapons that land around you.

One is a flaming hot shuriken that glows white.

If you had not seen the blood painted across the walls of the interrogation room, hadn't heard everyone you've met talk so casually about killing you, if you were newly out from your own world, you wouldn't have the courage to do it. But now, with no choice, you approach the metal. You hope the wires it comes off before heat burns your skin to crisp, or marks your wrists when it runs up the wire.

_It is the only way_.

Holding your wrists as far apart as the wires allow them to go, you bring your arms down hard on either side of the sharp, heated edge of the shuriken. The wire strains, cutting into your skin, but neither the wires nor your skin break. All you can do it take in a sharp breath of pain, and try again.

This time blood wells up from a tiny cut, but the heat splits the wires into halves so you can move your wrists again. You'll have to get the loops off your wrists later, and hope there isn't some sort of tracking device on it.

Navigation isn't your strongest skill, and it doesn't become easier in battle, but you still remember the village you passed while riding beside Deidara, coming towards Suna. It is an hour's away walking, you estimate, because it took twenty minutes on Deidara's giant clay construct. So you run as hard as you can, the moans of the prisoners reminding you of consequences should you stop.

A kunai lands where your foot had been a moment ago, but you pay no attention. The shinobi who threw it has moved onto something else.

- - - - -

At night, being in the desert is like stepping into a refrigerator.

It isn't quite four degrees Celsius and there is no ice, but you find the comparison acceptable—especially now that you've run out of energy. It's been only ten minutes, your adrenalin making you rush in ways that you haven't before, but your legs are killing you and your stomach feels like it's been stomped on.

Taking in deep breaths, trying not to think of the animals that could be out there, you pause for a moment at a nearby rock. The moon is bright enough for you to see the wires winding around your wrists. Kankurou has done his job well, even in seconds, first binding the wires to your wrists then knotting your wrists together. The blood around the cut has coagulated.

Ahead of you is a mountain that you saw on the way here. It, as Deidara once told you, is not quite seven hundred metres out from Suna. It's a good pace, fuelled by the adrenalin that pulsed through you, but now you are exhausted and have not managed to find the energy to continue running. You realise that you're in as much—no, more—danger here now than you were in the cell.

Probably not as much as in the battle, though.

You know you've never been particularly good at running, but rock climbing was one of your habits back when you were still in your world. Clutching a side and gasping, you examine all paths up. It's not very hard to spot one that goes around the mountain, now when it is the only area where the sand is less than a metre deep. Breathing in deeply, you begin the long climb.

Half an hour and a few hundred excruciating steps later, you come across the first sign of greenery you've seen since the slop in your dinner the day before. There are tough trees, which you do not recognise, poking out of the infertile soil of the desert. It's incredible, you note, that they manage to survive when there is more sand than dirt; despite the disadvantages, the foreign environment when plants _aren't_ supposed to grow, the trees have managed it.

Further along, you see a clump of aloe, and not long afterwards a farmhouse comes in sight. You remember this one—it is the only house you've seen so far with such a vivid roof, shining even when the only light comes from the moon. Just looking at it makes you shiver. The structure of the house is fine, almost similar to yours at home, with its few windows—to ward off dust storms—and roofs which do not overhanging, but the corrugated iron roof has rusted; it looks like someone spilled blood all over it, and that colour spills off the roof and dribbles onto the walls.

You look wistfully at your finger, and trek towards the house. It is the only place you can go. The house is an oasis by itself, surrounded by a sea of sand.

It might have been a bad idea to knock, especially at this time of night, but you only realise this when you've already completed the offending action. Waiting uneasily, you realise that it is the _only _course of action you could have taken, anyway. Hopefully, the owner will not mind.

"Excuse me!" You call, when your third bout of knocking has gone unheeded. There's no bell, either, to pull on, and no door knocker to protect your knuckles scraping against the hard wood. You are poised to run, but know very well that you wouldn't get very far if someone tried to give chase; not as you are now.

Finally, when you are sure the moon is about to drop out of the sky, there comes a quiet cough from somewhere behind you. You spin around clumsily, snatching a glance of the outline of a half-bent figure framed by the moon—but manage to balance against the wall. "Who are you?"

There comes a quiet chuckle. "I might ask the same thing"—the person moves out of the way, and features appear slowly from the silhouette. It's a man, perhaps three or four times your age, bent over from a combination of age, weariness, and a bundle of sticks strapped to his back—"since you are blocking my front door."

Embarrassment warms your cheeks and the tip of your ears. You quickly move out of the way, and watch as the man pulls a rusty-looking key from a hidden pocket, to unlock his door. When he pushes it open, he glances back out at you. "Who're you looking for, miss? I don't imagine you're here just out of curiosity, not at this time of the night when all are sleeping."

You look down. "Actually, I was—"

A screech owl—where did it come from, with no trees in the nearby vicinity?—shrieks and interrupts you. As you glance at it, the owl swoops away in an oddly mechanical way.

The man is frowning at you. "I can see you're not from these parts. A traveller? But why are you on your own?" His eyes harden; it's impossible to see any colour, not with the moon washing everything beneath its gaze into white and grey and silver. "Or are you shinobi?"

This question is easier to answer. "No, I'm not." You smile ironically. "I don't think I'll ever be, or even _want_ to be. I am a traveller." _Between worlds_.

He tilts his head. It is impossible to say he has relaxed, but something about his manner changes. The man shuffles inside, only glancing back once over his shoulder. "Do you seek a place to rest? This house was built for such, though it has been years since any used it for that purpose."

"What about you?" you ask, following him in. Somewhere, you wonder if it is wise to follow a stranger into his house, but—yet again—you realise you do not have any other choice sans going back to Suna. The second option strikes you as worse than taking your chances here. "Or do you live here, now?"

He laughs. "Child, I _built_ this house. I think I have an obligation to see it to its end, don't I?"

Pausing in front of a door leading to a room darker than the sky outside, he unhooks his wood from his shoulders and brushes the shavings from his silver-blue shirt. Then he beckons to you, and leads you down a corridor to another room. It is much larger than the one he stored his wood in, with only a small window on the wall across from three bunks.

"This is just for one night?" He asks you, letting you in.

You notice that there's no glass in the window; you could escape through it any time. The thought comforts you. If he had been planning to do something unsavoury, he would have left you trapped instead. "Yes, sir." Pausing between going to the window and examining your bed, a thought occurs to you. "Um, I don't even know your name to thank you."

It's impossible, but you see him chuckle in the doorway. "You don't need it. I have housed those who are of uncertain origins and intentions. I have never needed to know their names. It is the only reason I can work as I do."

"I'm not a ninja," you repeat firmly.

He nods. "I know that. Anyone would know that—you don't have to worry about me calling in someone for bounty. I doubt you would be worth much if you are not known in the Bingo Book of any country." Then he leaves.

When he turns and goes, there's nothing to do but lie on the bed and think.

The Dimensional Hopper is on its way to Konoha. Somehow, you have to follow and catch it. But when there are experienced shinobi like Temari guarding it, how in the world can you get it?

- - - - -

It doesn't take Kankurou long to notice that his captive is missing, but when a shinobi's wayward kunai glances off his marionette—its owner flying over his head following the weapon—he decides to worry about it later. Ryukan, he promises himself, will be found because he's got his reputation on the line.

What will the other shinobi think about a civilian managing to escape? Kankurou grits his teeth, and flicks his fingers so the puppet jerks forwards into the cloud thrown up by one of Deidara's bombs. He should be forgiven if any of the shinobi here back him up. This, after all, is one of the shinobi who managed to subdue Gaara. And if the way even ANBU-level shinobi are being thrown about is any indication . . .

Another clay sphere is lobbed his way. Cursing, he dives behind a sand dune, dragging his puppet with him. They aren't strong enough to withstand the clay that Deidara is throwing around, flinging people everywhere.

And Kankurou wonders how exactly Deidara managed to survive self-destructing, if the reports given are any indication.

"These are the finest"—a voice says from above him, and Kankurou dives away, his puppet screeching in front of him to shield him from a following explosion—"of your village, un?"

Kankurou grimaces. He's only marginally better and hand-to-hand combat than Gaara is. "We don't need the best to fight you." His arm swings up, and his puppet's blade emerges from Deidara's chest—

--and the clone crumbles into itself. He can feel a presence from right behind him, forcing him to dodge again. Taijutsu! It's his weakest point. If it comes down to a Taijutsu battle he knows he will lose. His only weapon is his doll, and Deidara, or Kankurou has heard, is good enough to create ten puppets out of clay and control them.

"What do you want?" he hisses, leaping back from each sand dune and gradually putting more and more distance between the two of them. The only problem is that he can't let Deidara get too far away, since his chakra threads only stretch so long. "What could you possibly get from our village?"

That is when Deidara smiles. "I already have what I need, un."

A clay construct whistles past Kankurou, almost impaling him but for his dodge to the left, and Deidara jumps onto it. But Kankurou knows better than to take chances; he waits until the bird is a hundred metres away before turning and going back to Suna, passing the few medics sent for the moment Deidara was discovered, who are trying to save the other shinobi.

"I'm fine," he says to one of the medics, before kneeling onto the ground. Dimly, he realises he hasn't seen the wounds across the back of his legs, and curses himself. People _die_ from loss of blood.

The Akatsuki are too strong.

"It's not too much," the medic says, when he takes a good look, "You'll make it back to Suna for treatment."

As he nods and leaves, Kankurou reaches into one of his pockets, and wonders if Ryukan has realised that the wires were only so easy to cut because they've had a tracking jutsu infused into the working. As long as she has them around her wrist, he can track her down looking for her position with a scroll that he keeps on his body at all times.

And his scroll is there.

Unfortunately, something is missing.

"_I already have what I need_." Deidara had said.

Kankurou's identification papers are gone.

- - - - -

"Which way is Konoha?" You ask the boarder when you rise the next day. Your legs are sore, your head is pounding, and every movement makes the wires still caught around your wrist sting, but you are up all the same.

He looks up, and points. "You probably shouldn't travel in the heat, though, if you don't have any survival.

So you wait impatiently for the sun to start setting so you can go. The only thing to do is either wander the house, which you do in the morning, and look at the rather outdate atlas which the man has lent you just for now.

Your discoveries show that there isn't anything valuable—therefore the fact that he's willing to let others in the house—except for the only door with a lock, leading into an empty room. There are characters painted with ink the colour of the walls and floors, which look as lifeless as the wood the man brought in the night before. Though looks _could_ be deceiving, you know.

In that room you sit down, wondering how thin the walls must be to let so much light in when the only window is at the very top, glass engraved with what is either a seal or an elaborate, ninja-like decoration, and frown at the atlas.

There are maps of the _Naruto_ world back in the real one, of course, but nothing like this. The most detailed you've seen involve the borders of the countries drawn, a single point showing the main shinobi village, and the symbol for each. The one at home looks more like cloths of different colours awkwardly stitched together into different shapes.

These, though, show most of the outlying villages, most of the smaller routes, all of the main villages and the main routes. Luckily, you've asked the man where you are, so you're able to pinpoint your approximate location. Not so far away is the bright red line of a main road, which you trace with a finger.

It leads to Konoha.

But are Temari and the Dimensional Hopper following that road?

It's some time after noon when you emerge from the room; and see the man talking with a wounded but otherwise capable-of-functioning Deidara. Both turn instantly to look at you.

That's when Deidara smirks. "I believe you said that you didn't have such places?"

The man looks defeated. "I lied. But you can't kill me, since you need me to activate it."

"Unfortunately, un," Deidara returns, "Or that bomb will have gone out. Lucky I didn't do so, though." He turns and studies you thoughtfully. "How did you escape the shinobi? Maybe you are some use?"

"I . . . um . . ." you shift nervously.

The Akatsuki member eyes the book thoughtfully. "You patrolled daily with that sand ninja. No doubt you've heard of the machine they're transporting, then? Along with scientists"—he shrugs dismissively—"which are to use it."

The man turns to look at him suddenly. "You're stealing it?"

"Of course," says Deidara smoothly, giving him a hard glare. Then he turns to you, taking the atlas. "You really might come in useful."

He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask him to. After all, you are becoming less reckless. You've run so far to avoid them that you won't give into the urge and risk death or worse, the more hands-on type of interrogation. You let him take it, hiding the wince when the sudden jerk pulls at the wire still bound around your wrist, and look away.

"You should come with me."

It isn't a suggestion; but since you were planning to go the same way it isn't so much of a set-back at all. Deidara, at least, has an inkling of where the Dimensional Hopper might be soon.

Behind you, the owner of the house mutters, "That's the last time I believe 'unconfirmed' means death."

"What was that, un?"

"I need to get a new bingo book."

- - - - -

To be continued…

- - - - -

Please review.

A/N: To those who are wondering what I have against science, I don't. It's one of my favourite subjects, but to Kankurou and Temari—who know well about things like chakra which science is hard put to explain—it must seem completely nonsense. To Ryukan, though…

A note on mountains; they exist in the desert. Just read _Holes_. If you haven't figured it out yet, this story is officially AU due to the revelation that, yes, Deidara _is_ dead.

The man's name isn't shown because I don't want to create more OCs than I have to. He is pretty much 'unnamed'. However, he and the house do have roles in the story. Hint: Ryukan certainly hasn't improved so much that she can surprise Akatsuki members by suppressing her chakra.

Next chapter is a sort of interlude, now that Ryukan has an actual goal. It will be different from the chapters thus far, and leads on to some of the more cryptic comments made by the characters. Kudos to those who might have figured it out already.

Thank you to all reviewers.


	5. Interlude I

Status Unconfirmed

By _icecreamlova_

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5 – Interlude 1

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By unrushed shinobi means, it takes a week to get to Konoha.

Civilians who are travelling alone, or with a guard or two, take ten days.

A group of shinobi guarding highly (a) fragile instrument(s) – one of the shinobi comments slyly that the scientists are much worse than the _highly fragile instrument, _because their machine can break a scientist's head or two, but the scientist's head can't break the machine when smashed against it – will probably take a whole three weeks. Plus any detours that the scientists decide to take in understandable caution.

Great.

Somehow, that's supposed to explain how a fire is burning in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Two weeks," you say quietly, "We're going to stay in this cave for _two weeks?_ Don't you have stuff to do for whatever or whoever your work for?"

"I would kill you if you weren't such a good distraction."

That slides over your head, because it's dark and you are half asleep. The second half sprouts a hook and grasps onto your mind. You acknowledge it is true: a girl who is obviously not shinobi stopping in the middle of the road will give you cautious acceptance, even from ninja.

Besides, you've fought hard enough for your life – six years ago, and in the last few days – that you are not going to let it go again so easily. The food from that night already warming your belly, you draw your knees closer to your chest and stare into the flickering flames. Above the cave of the mouth, you think the storm might be clearing, but it seems more of a desperate wish than anything else.

A week, you think. You've been in the so-called Naruto world for a week now. A week ago, that magic number of seven days, you were actually excited about this.

If only, a week ago, you'd known you would crash down on earth, get stuck in two different prisons in the dark, be attacked by people you thought were only characters in a mangaka's imagination, and get stuck soaking wet in a rainstorm.

"You seem pensive," Deidara remarks.

"If I were thoughtful I wouldn't be here right now."

"True, un. No thoughtful person would have fallen ten thousand feet from the sky."

You flick open one eye and stare at him. If you're quiet tonight, then Deidara is more talkative than usual. Maybe he was drinking sake (because, you think, even Akatsuki members need to loosen up once in a while, though you certainly do not want to meet one after a night at the bar) earlier or something. Except he's shinobi, you remember, because it's been repeated to you so many times during your stay; he's shinobi, and shinobi are just tools.

"Remind me why, exactly, you're not using a clone and want me to be the distraction."

"Live decoys are more convincing," Deidara says without missing a beat – except there's something odd about his voice. His face, half hidden by light coloured hair, denotes a mind as far away from his body as someone like Deidara will ever get.

Maybe you can use this moment. You change the subject. "It's probably not often you get to talk to a civilian, Deidara-san. Probably even less when the person is, technically, your prisoner, and who would not be believed if she tried to sell your secrets. Because she was stupid enough to get captured by suna nin and ask you about Tobi."

Deidara says, a bit sarcastically, "You _must_ have had such a traumatic time."

He doesn't know it, you think, but yes. You have, actually, and it makes your life back home seem brighter. The last time you were in such a severe predicament must have been… at least six years ago.

How long has it been since you last thought of it? Probably when you told Mina.

"_And you're telling me this now," Mina said._

"_Yes."_

"_A year afterwards."_

"_Yes."_

"_Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"_

"_As much as my mother, probably," Ryukan said. "Besides, you're only ten. We're both ten. And I really am fine. See? No complications a year on."_

_For a moment, Mina seemed taken aback. Then she just looked furious. "And I suppose you thought it would have been kinder if I didn't know the cause? Then you just decide to spring it on me, when I'm here to cheer you up. At a sleepover, with no prior warning—because you could probably have thought of a way to warn me."_

_Ryukan said, "Are you really that angry with me, instead of relieved?"_

"_A bit of both. But more angry than relieved."_

"_If it weren't for… well… you know… would you try to punch me?"_

"_That's not my style," Mina said. She pulled one of the pillows off Ryukan's bed and hugged it to her chest, looking thoughtful. "That's you, and of breaking the arm of four year olds. I'd just ban you from my playstation for a few months, and know that it's just as cruel. Maybe get the flying smudge stories and figure out how to set the Shiny Monster on you."_

"_And you say I'm immature. You're still sprouting stories."_

"_I may be immature," Mina said, suddenly too serious for Ryukan's taste, "But you're selfish. Sapphire and I weren't sure if you could escape this time, because it wasn't something like detention or being chased by your cat, and you did not think to tell us when everything was over. You said there were no complications. I think there are."_

"_I'll get to telling Sapphire, soon," said Ryukan firmly._

_Mina picked up one of the spiders the two of them had made earlier that evening, toying with the lump of vanilla ice cream, floating like an iceberg at the top of the glass of coca cola. Bits broke off as she stirred it. "I hope you tell her before I do. For someone who makes so many friends you don't seem to be able to keep them. Never mind. Wanna play Yu-Gi-Oh?"_

_Standing up would have been a strain a few months ago, Ryukan remembered. Now she did so without any trouble, and walked over to the cabinet where she kept her games, and opened it. She rummaged through its contents. "Sorry, Mina. I can't find the cards. Let's play poker instead and bet chocolates."_

"_We already ate all of them. Next game!"_

"_Speed?"_

"_Fine."_

_Ryukan glanced at the hand she'd received from Mina, and felt her mouth turn up into a faint smile. She looked over the cards, and said, "Let's make a bet. Whoever wins has to answer a question honestly from the other person."_

"_Would I lie to you?"_

_She did not even credit that with an answer._

_Mina shrugged in assent. They played. Mina won._

"_Hey," Mina said, when they'd finished, "Why are there so many cards missing?"_

_Ryukan flipped them over, and showed her the whole packet. "The hearts are missing. Now, are you going to ask a question?"_

"Probably nothing compared to you," You say, now. "Aren't you supposed to be the one confessing? Seeing the shrink, or whatever?"

Deidara eyes you thoughtfully, like you are not, and then looks back at the fire. Outside the cave, rain is still pouring, but the downpour has lightened ever so slightly. It resembles the day you first landed here. He reaches out a hand and lets it absorb the rain through one of the hands. "Seeing the shrink. You've certainly… changed, un, though I don't imagine the fall had much to do with it. I'd say you were probably like that before hitting your head."

You open your mouth to reply, but at that moment the flames swish from a sudden gust of wind, and the tiny veins – no, _cracks_ – running along Deidara's arm are shadowed and very visible. Your eyes follow them; the lines creep up and disappear into his sleeve.

Instead of retorting, you ask, "Say… you didn't try to blow yourself up, did you?"

"You saw that from the sky?" Deidara raises an eyebrow. "Or did Suna nin tell you?"

You refrain from biting down on your lip, and say, "Oh, I saw you. I fell from very far, remember?" You lean back against the wall, wondering how to change the subject into what you want to know in a subtle manner, and not quite succeeding. "That psychologist offer still stands. You can't possibly have spoken to anyone as extensively as you have to me for a long, _long _time."

His mouth quirks up, at the very edge. You try not to notice. "No, I suppose."

"No?"

"I haven't spoken to a civilian as extensively as I have to you for a long, long time," he pauses, and watches you with a thoughtful expression. You're almost convinced that he is not going to continue when he finally starts speaking again: "Not since I was your age."

You bristle at this, as much as you can with such humid air in the cave, and say, "I'm not that much younger than you: fifteen, remember? You're what; eighteen? It's a _huge_ difference."

He shrugs, gaze swerving away to stare at the mouth of the cave, but you get the feeling that his stare is probably focused a few years back, and an unknown number of kilometres away. Maybe even literally: his eye would give you the creeps if it weren't Deidara, who is cool, and the last thing you should be thinking about that way. This really is _not_ the time to.

At last, after a lengthy period of silence, Deidara says, "Not too far off. About seventeen. And the last person I talked to – if you tell _anyone_ about this, I will leave you locked in a room with Tobi for a week and let you deal with his craziness – wounded up dead. It's a pity, really, that she died."

"If I were a real physiologist I would be jotting this down, but I don't have a pen or any paper."

"Use the wall and a stick."

"No thanks," you say, then without missing a beat: "So who was she?"

Deidara glances back at you over his shoulder and holds your eyes until you look away, feeling like a petty student, and feeling annoyed that he's tall enough and old(er) enough to do that. Sounding faintly reminiscent of your maniacal monster of a social studies teacher with the shiny head, who you haven't thought about since you came to the _Naruto_ world, he says, "A psychologist doesn't exactly poke around that way. It might cause some form of mental problems like you shoved a kunai into a mind."

"But most ninja already have mental problems," you remind him. "No one's needed my help to become a psychotic killer. Anyway, professional mode? What was her name?"

Back he looks at the pouring rain outside. What, you wonder, is so greatly absorbing about droplets of water condensed until the air could not hold them, and are thus doing a great job of imitating a flock of drunken ducks? True, it's fascinating how they run off the edges of plants, and drip slowly at the mouth of the cave, but really, it's insulting to think that you're not as interesting as clumps of one atom of oxygen bonded with two of hydrogen in an ionic bond.

A covalent bond would be _so _much more interesting.

"Her name," Deidara tells you, finally, in a voice that makes a part of your chest ache – which, considering the circumstances, is _really _strange, "was Mai."

"That's a . . . er . . . suitable name for a girl."

Almost as if he didn't hear you, Deidara says, "I knew her for a long time before she was killed. Which she, of course, was."

By now, you've identified that faint note in his voice, and wish you hadn't asked. At the same time, morbid curiosity makes you open your mouth as if someone was controlling you with a remote, and ask, "And I suppose it had something to do with your… line of work?"

"Not this one," he says. You have the feeling that he says the next bit simply to gauge your response. "The other one. I was a terrorist bomber. A pretty good one, too, since the clay's useful that way."

You'd already known that, but listening to him say it so casually simply, makes you wonder. It is not the first time you've seen Deidara's other side, but this _really_ makes it sink in. Bad guys, instead of being romanticized, are _bad_ for a reason. They're villains for a reason. You are too caught up to hide your expression before he sees it, and only a soft snort brings you away from Planet Ryukan.

"Too predictable, un."

You look at him and, keeping your voice level – a struggle – say, "Civilian, remember? Back to you. Did you ever think about revenge?"

"I got it."

A shiver passes through you, because that statement reminds you so much of Uchiha Sasuke – who you loath as much as your cousin's unselfish choices – that it is not very hard to imagine. "I . . . see." You pause, and wonder where the next question sprung up from, but ask anyway. "Did you hate them?"

"Still do," he says.

You raise an eyebrow. "Hate isn't very good for you, you know. It's a good thing you told a shrink, even if it may be only a bit better than telling a brick wall."

The thoughtful expression is back on his face, carved sharply due to the light from the fire—which has had nearly a bucket of water poured over it by now and is still going strong. It exposes the lines, like a patchwork hastily sewn together, that cross his face lightly. They are less actual lines than cracks, but at the moment there's about as much difference as between Orochimaru's two severed hands.

It makes reading his face surprisingly easy.

"You know, un," he says, his voice matching his expression for once, "That there's actually a rule about that. Shinobi rule #25. Don't show emotions. But shinobi rule #26. Don't hate your enemy, un. Probably because it screws your head up."

"_Hating people screws your head up," said Rosa._

"_But it's so enjoyable!" Ryukan and Mina said at the same time. Ryukan was the one who continued, "It's like, reading about Uchiha Sasuke"—a groan emitted from the general area of Mina, who slunk off away from the bad manga/anime talk—"and wanting to pummel him."_

"_And knowing that you couldn't," said Rosa, running her hand through her hair. It was incredibly fine, so much that it broke about four times more than a normal person's, and so Rosa kept it cropped to the base of her chin. Every time she looked at it, Ryukan felt gratitude to whatever deity had decreed that her brown hair was of moderate thickness and could stay on her head._

_As expected, Rosa's fingers drew off a few strands, and it was amusing to see how her generally collected friend lost her scruples and threatened with words bordering, but never quite crossing, the line of swearing._

_Ryukan said, "I though hate screwed up your head. So how far along are you with hair like that?"_

"_I said people," Rosa said. "It's fine to hate inanimate objects and gods that curse you with hair like mine. I envy you."_

"_Well, of course you do," said Ryukan, striking a pose. "I am the greatest."_

"_Sure you are . . . there's a song like that isn't there?" As Ryukan opened her mouth to answer, Rosa's brain appeared to skip a dimension into a different topic. "Hey, why weren't you at the mall yesterday? Mina wouldn't tell us."_

_Ryukan rolled her eyes._

_Rosa said, "What? You look like you went to a funeral."_

"_I did,' Ryukan said flatly. "Now, moving on—"_

"_Who's was it?"_

"_I'll tell you if you tell me your birthday."_

"_I can live with not knowing about the funeral," said Rosa. She pulled out a book and appeared to get lost in it, making Ryukan huff in disappointment._

"_It was my cousin's," said Ryukan finally. "And no, that isn't the reason I wasn't there at the mall. The funeral was five years ago, when I was nine. I went to his anniversary. Happy?"_

_Rosa said, "Not really. But I'll be happy if you do that trick again when you escape, and tell me how you manage to elude us when we play hide-and-seek with Mina's neighbour. It's, like, you have some sort of gene that makes you go invisible or something when you don't want to be found. You can _escape_ so well."_

_In return, Ryukan sat down beside Rosa, and stretched her arms out. She thought her reply might have sounded a little scornful, and Rosa probably noticed though she stayed silent, but she answered all the same. "A lot of use escaping will be. Now, reading minds, or setting things on fire—__**that's **__real power. Or maybe telekinesis, you never know . . ."_

_Rosa said, "Escaping will probably come in useful some day. What did your cousin die of, and why do you seem so angry?"_

_Typical Rosa, who read more about psychology than she really ought to: there are some things you can't learn out of a book._

_She decided to indulge her friend this time. "He was terminally ill. I'm angry because my aunt's angry: she hated the fact that he signed a contract that donated his body parts to those who need transplants. You know my family: they're so strict and everything, almost blew up when I decided on Wicca. So now my aunt can't bring herself to forgive him for what she sees as signing away his body for those who need it, and my mother is no better. Worse, he did it for one of the exclusive hospitals."_

"_The new one that opened on the other side of the city?"_

"_Yeah, that one. My mother hated the fact that they would accept 'donations' from teenagers, and she spoke out against them, and of course my cousin just had to go and sign it anyway . . . his heart's already been taken, you know. And my aunt only visits his 'grave' once a year."_

_Rosa studied her in a way that made Ryukan uncomfortable, but did not press that point. Instead, she changed the subject. "Like I said, hating people screws your head up."_

"Yes," you say thoughtfully, wondering yet again just how much Rosa managed to pick up from that conversation a whole year ago. Rosa, who is as Naruto-crazy as you are, and has read much more fanfiction about people flicking on the TV and from there being sucked into a world (although those people all seemed to be super-strong . . .). "It does. So why isn't your head screwed up?"

"What makes you think it isn't?" Deidara says. "But Mai, she helped me. We grew up together."

You watch his face, and then you realise it, and again comes that strange feeling around your chest that you really don't want to identify right now. "Did you love her?"

He says, "We were childhood friends, so I cared for her, I suppose you could say. And then she died and I killed her killers. The end."

"I wonder what your family thought about all this," you say in your best off-hand manner.

He grimaces at something, then gets up. With all your thoughts springing around gleefully – like Mina's neighbour on a triple-sugar-high – you do not notice until then that the rain has stopped and that, for some damn reason, the fire's out.

"If we hurry up," says Deidara. "We'll catch up with them the next morning, un. If I take the ninja down, then that'll be the end of it."

"What if the scientists try to use the Dimensional Hopper to escape?"

"They can't. City people don't have the means to make it work. They lack something important."

Great. You just _can't_ wait.

But, you tell yourself, this could be your chance to get home. And maybe you'll begin talking to your aunt again . . .

_Mina didn't waste time thinking up a question: she asked immediately._

"_Do you hate your aunt?"_

_They both knew who she was talking about: Mina had been there when their aunt ran into Ryukan in the store, and despite her attempt at pleasantries, the woman had taken off like the hounds of Hades were trailing at her heels. Mina must have seen the sudden sadness in Ryukan's eyes, she thought. This in lieu with the fact that Mina could have asked other things. So she gave an honest answer._

"_She doesn't want to," said Ryukan, "but I think she hates me. And . . . she has a right to."_

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To be continued…

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A/N: Yes, yes, I know you want to kill me because I haven't updated. Go ahead and flame, but constructive criticism is more appreciated (apart from "stories regularly updated are better"). Ducks a rock. I know, I know, you also hate me because there is almost no action in this chapter . . . my defence:

Every secret of Ryukan has been said – and Deidara's has been touched on – in this chapter. So who managed to get the whole picture, so far? And, finally, Ryukan is adjusting to the world. You can't have so many near-death brushes to continue to jump at any sudden danger.

Note: the 'speed' is obviously the card game, not the drug. And it's not illegal to bet chocolates, which is what two of my friends actually do. Rosa, Mina and Sapphire are Ryukan's friends from the 'real world'. They aren't important characters: you can forget about their names if you want, and note that strange names Ryukan's friends (the story really can't take too many OCs).


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